Past Perfect
by Daniel Jay
Summary: Set in the world of 'The Wish', a short explanation to why Buffy never went to Sunnydale.


Disclaimer: All characters that have appeared in an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. All others are property of me, Dan.

Rating: PG-13 for violence, tone, and mild language. Possibly an R but compared to my other stories this is tame.

Notes: This entire story is set pre Season 1 in the timeline featured in the episode 'The Wish'. So if you're wondering about spoilers chances are there's none. Thanks to Jolene for Beta reading this piece of fiction despite my harassment during the process. And I'm too lazy to actually check and see if my geographical descriptions are correct so if I'm completely wrong laugh about and make fun of me. Whatever perks up your day. 

I know this story is three years too late but I always wanted to write an explanation to the state of the world of 'The Wish' without writing it as an explanation, but an actual story. Inspiration, I guess, is _Titanic_ (who didn't know Jack was going to die before going to watch that movie?) and the upcoming _Star Wars_ prequels. 

Thanks for reading, or even browsing –Dan

Prologue: The Slayers

The floor of the forest was a gaunt thing. Its thickness was felt at its roof, the needles and branches choking the sunlight out of the woodland. This is California at its worst, the Slayer thought, a vampire wonderland of darkness and shadows.

In Buffy's dream, the girl, the Slayer before her, ran briskly through the dark. She leapt over another tree; a fallen redwood, thick, rotting and flaking with termites eating at its core.

"Damn," the Slayer muttered. Buffy knew the word was barely audible but she heard it clear and loud. She did not know why.

The Slayer slid into the steep depression at the tree's side, nearly tumbling over while doing so. Buffy saw what she saw. Tracks. They were fresh and abundant in the shallow layer of loose dirt covering the otherwise compact soil. The marks skid downward and then became the residue of clear footsteps, heading towards the hill that breasted gently upward.

The Slayer followed the vampire's lead, sliding on her heels and then running once hitting the inward hill's bottom. This part of the dream always left Buffy feeling uneasy, seeing how easily they could mimic each other, Slayer and vampire.

__

Don't do it! Just turn back. Turn back!

Buffy knew it would do no good but she screamed the words anyway. The dream had haunted her for the past three weeks now, looping endlessly in the nights and always ending the same way; brutal, bloody and cold.

__

Please turn back! Buffy did not scream the girl's name for she did not know it. Her knowledge of the girl lay elsewhere. And what she knew scared her as much as how she came about the knowledge. She did not have to ask Merrick, she just _knew._

Buffy knew the Slayer was English, born and raised in a small village in the Bristol region. The girl hated it here and longed to return home, as soon as her job was complete. She'd been in the country for a week, tracking a killer that'd taken to a cross-country murder spree. It was his emblem left at each scene, however, that drew her to the land.

The mark was: Slayer.

Knowledge of the serial killer was commonplace through the big deal they'd made about it in the newspapers (Buffy once thought sarcastically). What she now knew was how the bodies had been gutted and strewn across each person's house. How the killer did not just write his sign once but everywhere. To walk into a crime scene was like walking into some sort of demented funhouse. Instead of mirrors reflecting a single image it was the word written on every surface. All were huge, inked in dried rolling blood.

The Slayer answered the taunt and the night she found herself in California was when the murders stopped. _Another piece of the damned puzzle_! Buffy found herself thinking occasionally. Though, for the life of her, she did now know from what puzzle it was.

The next day the police found what they thought to be the last murder in the killer's saga. The body was that of an older man in his mid-forties, British, who was slain in his hotel room. The desk clerk said that the man and a young girl, both British, checked in the evening before and that his companion didn't look his daughter. He suggested she might have been his girlfriend given the closeness in which they acted. The police investigated but they could not locate the girl anywhere. It was never decided if she was a possible victim or suspect.

Buffy never saw it in the dream but she knew the girl returned to the hotel as the sun was setting. Together they tracked the butcher but the Slayer knew it was not smart to leave her Watcher alone with such a maniac on the loose. The sun, she thought, would be a fair guardian for him while she followed up on a lead regarding the killer's whereabouts. 

The man was dressed in a black hooded cloak, face covered, and wearing huge, ebony sunglasses, when she first saw him. 

She had just pulled the rented car into their parking spot and killed the engine when she heard the muffled crash of a door slamming shut. If it weren't for the unsettling look of the place and the intensity of the sound she would have thought nothing of it. Even then if wouldn't have mattered.

The hotel was not like any the Slayer had stayed at previously in her life. In its two stories of height, it allowed only single cabins to be lined up on top of each other in a row. The room that the two checked into was on its top floor and it was there the sound originated from. The Slayer leapt out of the car and slammed it shut in a haze, her movements automated. The man standing on the long ramp running along the doors had suddenly become the most interesting person in the world. 

His body was sun-proofed, dressed in dark, thick clothing. The falling rays of sunlight continued to shine when he looked down, his body blanketed in a soft orange glow.

Buffy could feel what she thought at that point.

__

God, no.

All was black with the man except for the leather glove dressing his left hand. The fingers were splashed in a dark dripping red.

The Slayer stood silent, unbelieving, when he turned and ran. Dust from the ramp fell by the Slayer's face and then he leapt onto the railing and into the parking lot. He flew the length of three parked cars. His coat trailed behind him in steams before he hit the ground in a hard roll.

__

Get your weapons! Get your weapons! 

The Slayer was usually cautious but the idea of home being a safe haven lulled her into forgetting to secure a stake in her jacket. They were hidden in her duffel bag, on the passenger seat of the car.

She grabbed for the handle and pulled it upward. The door did not open.

She yanked it upward again in a panic before remembering the vehicle had an automatic lock. Worse was that she'd forgotten the keys in the ignition.

The vampire's echoing footfalls could be heard and the girl's heart quickened.

The Slayer slid her hand into the arm of her jacket and threw her forearm into the window. It shattered inward, the glass shards littering the front seat of the car. She reached inside and pulled the lock sideways when she heard a scream.

The sound was high, piercing. The Slayer left the weapons and pulled back toward the rear of the car.

She saw the man in black push a woman against the back of a truck and then throw his fist forward, hitting her on the brim of her nose. She limped backward and the vampire wrapped his hand around her neck and tossed her upward. She floated through the air majestically before hitting the cab of the truck headfirst and falling into the box.

The door to the vehicle hung open and a set of keys flashed dimly in the vampire's hand.

The truck was a good distance from the car, sitting parked at the end of the crowded lot. The vampire was seated in the truck when the Slayer found herself back by the car's door. She clawed at the handle, nearly breaking it, and the door popped open.

The engine at the far side growled its usual _rrrr_ and the Slayer heard the sound of tires burning against the concrete. Her own engine turned and she threw the stick into reverse, ramming her foot into the gas pedal. The old Grand Am flew out of the narrow spot like a drunken dog, hitting each car on its sides in the process. The metal and tires screamed as she backed out, the steering turned wide and to the left. She stopped, pushed the stick into drive, and flew forward.

The rear lights of the truck were on the road, glowing in the dusk like the red eyes of a dragon. The Slayer found herself in the same spot a few seconds later.

2

Buffy's dream always begins the same, that with the sight of the sun setting. Her view is high above, somewhere between the treetop and the first cloud inching it's way across the sky. She sees the circular flame falling behind the earth with such speed that it scares her.

The clouds, lit with a twilight of colours, speed across the horizon. Quickly the verdant trees loose their shape, becoming nothing more than a large clump with a jagged top, the light fading behind it. Darkness soon settles upon the land like a plague. The rays of light look to rot, becoming bruised and ugly through the hazy mist of clouds. Then there's nothing but black.

This is when she falls.

Suddenly Buffy's perspective is surface based. Without realizing it, her eyes become nearly nocturnal. She sees everything clearly. She sees the truck speed around the corner, how it looks to loose control, and how it tears off the high road, spitting gravel from under its tires, and into the ditch. Buffy sees the car nearing when the truck hops out of the long weedy reeds of the trench, its front off the ground a good seven feet, and continues to speed forward. She sees the car come to a stop when the truck does the same, hitting a tree that is both large and stout. The right of the truck's front hits the bark and it crumples like cardboard, the back jumping up and to the right before slumping to a halt.

The lights of the car are honed in on the wreck when the girl begins to descend the ditch. For a second she's behind the beams and her shadow is cast over the path in the ditch. The stake in her hand looks a giant's. She moves quickly, throwing a glance to each side while doing so.

The Slayer begins to circle the truck's side, keeping a fair distance while doing so. The back of the truck is untouched, lit and there to be seen. The front, however, is a mystery. The engine is dead and silent, the lights gone. She half expects to see the ghost of the ruin any minute.

It's only been ten seconds since the Slayer came to a halt on the deserted highway when she charges the front, clenching her stake to attack. It's a shock when she finds the seat empty where she expects to find the vampire pinned.

A twig snaps and the Slayer's turns in its direction. Forward, she realizes, he flew out the window and is out there somewhere. She looks back to the vehicle and sees the windshield gone as if to confirm her suspicions. She hears another snap and a low pounding on the soil. The Slayer begins to run in pursuit.

It's not long before she realizes that the chase may last a while. The forest is void of underbrush, nary much but a sapling and a fallen log to block the path. The trees themselves are thick and wide, requiring some quick manoeuvring on the tough terrain.

She does not feel him, though, only the faint sound of his feet and the sight of the tracks before her. There's nothing to indicate she's making ground.

__

He's fast, she thinks. _He's killed for longer than I've been alive and he's not going to be caught easily. _

The thought leaves a seed of doubt in her mind and for the first time since it began she thinks about ending the chase. That's when she sees it, the jacket. She comes to a stop abruptly, nearly passing over the black, crumpled coat.

The tracks continue, but barely readable. He's been holding back, she thinks in a horrible revelation. She begins to back away when her surroundings hit her like cursed luck. She's in a pit. All ground around her is leading upwards. A few dirty rocks protrude from the ground and the trees are thick but their branches high. Not close enough for her to grab or help her in any way. To her back she hears the clear snap of a branch and to her side she hears a thick sound of wood cracking. Bark being broken, she guesses.

Hooting and howling is all around her now, the vampire's terrible darkness assaulting her senses. The buttery gold pupils grow in numbers all around her.

"Slayer," a voice at her back hisses. She hears his charging footfalls and the Slayer knows even in the attacker's stupidity he is smart. Behind him is another and another-

The Slayer jumps to her side, places her foot on a high, pointed rock, and kicks back toward the vampire. The vampire doesn't realize what's happening before she's midair, on top of him, and driving her stake into his heart.

Dust replaces the vampire and the Slayer continues forward before hitting the ground and rolling to her feet. One down, how many-

The Slayer hears another, behind her. She turns around and sees a vampire's foot barrelling at her. No time to think she allows her reflexes to think for her. The vampire expects her to back away her reflexes say so instead she steps forward. She raises her forearm and blocks, half-catching, the vampires shin. Any other time she would take the time to pummel the vampire, but time is of the essence. She brings the stake into his heart and he explodes, leaving the standing imprint of his skeleton in a dusty ash.

She looks around again. There's five more, none so stupid as their friends. The ash has blown away when the Slayer realizes that the vampires have her circled completely. The five each stand little more than ten feet away and beyond them is another blockade. This one fills the holes in the first.

The stake is firmly in her palm when she begins to pivot around, waiting the next to attack. They stand, not sluggish, but ready. Their hands are ready to grapple; their teeth ready to tear.

She sees him, their leader, as the moonlight first makes itself known. He stands at the top of the ridge between two of the trees. The moon is rising behind him. His hood is gone revealing a shaved head, but it's those same glasses, thick, black and impenetrable. He smiles a picture of perfection and motions to the sky. The Slayer does not want to look.

He frowns, a hurt look of a child, and then whistles. The sound rings in her ears and the vampires growl in agreement. They step forward in unison and the Slayer knows that she is going to die.

3

__

I killed another one today.

The idea of telling this to her parents danced wistfully in the mind of young Buffy Summers. This sentence, she thought, would be the perfect way to solve her problems. She could see it happening already.

__

Mom, Dad, I killed a vampire today. I'm a Vampire Slayer. You see, to combat the forces of darkness a girl is chosen and given the strength to do battle with all that is evil in the night. That's where I come in. Due to some fluke of the odds I was that girl chosen. So now you two can stop fighting. See, just stop, it's not that hard. You two stop fighting and just remember that there are a lot of horrible things out there and you two love each other. Then you two can stop yelling at me and remember that I need to be loved too. Its so, so- 

"So lonely being the chosen one."

Buffy paused on the sidewalk, worried that someone may have heard her words.

__

Ha! her mind trumpeted. And suddenly it occurred to her that it was Christmas. Not Christmas Eve as it was just a few hours ago but Christmas. 

She looked around and saw the suburban street lit with hundreds of the multicoloured bulbs, but no people. It was quite and dead, the only motion being the light breeze against her cheeks. Again, it hit her. Not everyone has to sneak out of their house to wander the streets looking for vampires. It was at Merrick's instance she did.

"You need to train more," he said. "It was my mistake that you were left alone for so long but its now time for us to redeem that mistake. And patrolling must be done every evening. The vampires wait for no one and they will kill if you don't stop them. Remember that if you begin to feel frustrated."

It was weird how she'd come to respect the old guy over the past few weeks. Sure he was sometimes mean about training but when you came right down to it, he looked like a pudgy, little teddy bear. And she supposed that he his intentions were in the right place. Now only if it didn't interfere with her social life…

Buffy turned down an alley, dark and uninviting with its many shadows running across the path, and began to walk towards her house. She felt her hand ready for her stake and then tried to push the feeling back. Normal Buffy and Slayer Buffy are two different people, she thought. _Right now I'm just Normal Buffy walking home so she can curl up into her bed and go to sleep. Normal Buffy who has to sneak in through the window just like she used to. _

It'd been three hours since crawled out the window. Five hours since she pretended to go to bed. Her parents had been fighting on and off during the first two. Mainly over whose idea it was to stay in LA for Christmas in the first place. 

"We could have gone back to Cleveland," her mom had screamed.

"Travel half way across the country for two days when you know I have to work right after Boxing Day. Oh, how convenient," her Dad responded.

Her Dad had then begun to point out that they could have driven to his parents, which was only two hours away. At that point her mom had responded that he knew she and his mother did not get along.

Buffy could imagine herself as a young girl at this point, lying in her bed, wrapped in her blanket and holding the doll that was Mr. Gordo. Young Buffy would have been whispering, "Please, just stop." while the arguing would progress. This Buffy, though, was the one who had to deal with it and she was thankful for that.

Tonight she'd been sitting in her bed, ready to hop in and get under the covers if she heard them walking to her room, and staring at a stake. The stake, however, had never been used in battle. This one held a special purpose.

It wasn't so much for comfort as it was for distraction. The stake was her other life and holding it she wondered what it would bring. Merrick said that most Slayers were trained since they were children and all they knew was to be a Slayer. _That isn't me_, she though and Merrick seemed to agree with her. There wasn't a precedent for a Slayer such as herself and they both were flying blind.

How would she deal with being a Slayer in a year? Two years? The questions came quickly when she held that long piece of wood and seemed more real. She was _the_ Slayer when she held the stake and that girl was going to have a long and arduous life.

"I'll be ready for them," Buffy whispered, barely realizing, and continued to walk down the alley.

Buffy came up to the gate that signalled her house and stopped, surveying. There the backdoor stood but it wasn't her goal. Her parent's room held no light and her own looked undisturbed.

Buffy entered through the gate and began to move along the fence towards her window. For a second she imagined herself as one of those thieves in a Saturday morning cartoon, hunched, knees bent, arms looking like they're preparing to fly, shuffling along cautiously, and wondered if anybody actually applied that technique. She smiled and stepped lightly on the grass as she went.

She went as far as the fence served her and then ran across the yard in a mad frenzy. Not even the nosiest of neighbours could have seen that, she thought. She grappled the bottom of the window and it slid upward with ease. Buffy threw her leg over and into the room, pushing the shade out of the way with her hand. Halfway inside, she paused.

__

It shouldn't be this dark. 

That was the truth. Since she was a girl she usually kept a small lamp in the corner of her room. Small and petite it shone a small pool of light around it. Just enough to scare away the monsters, was her theory as a child.

Buffy felt the muscles in her throat tense and stiffen when she thought she saw something. A figure standing by the door, a silhouette of what appeared to be a man.

She stepped into the room and already noticed her eyes adjusting with the moonlight as their helper. It was her dad she realized and felt a little easier. A little.

"Dad, what are you doing in here?" she asked and felt stupid for doing so. She did leave the house after curfew and he was a stickler about curfews.

A moment passed and Buffy felt only his silence. In regards to her Dad that usually meant his temper had reached its peak and he was preparing his speech. She decided to take the offensive.

"Dad, I sorry I left the house after curfew but you know my friend Sarah. Well, she just got a new car from her parents for, you know, Christmas. And you were so set on having us spend the day together that I never got a chance to see it." She paused and rambled into the final leg of her argument. "So I'm sorry and I promise to never do it again, okay?"

Her father said nothing and Buffy looked closer, feeling fear creep up her spine like shards of ice.

"Dad?"

His feet, they were limp.

The figure flew towards her like a wooden mannequin. He landed in the light with his hands by his sides, eyes open. There were two holes in his neck, his skin a ghostly pale.

Buffy found it impossible to look away. It was her father, her dead father.

"Daddy?"

Suddenly the door opened and Buffy looked up to see a figure leaving the room. He was thin and short and turned left once entering the hallway, heading towards the living room. He looked in no hurry to leave the house.

The wood in the hallway creaked and Buffy felt herself break out of whatever daze held her. Her dad was dead and it was a vampire that killed him.

Her hands reached for the stake in her jacket without a thought to guide them and she stepped over her dad, nearly running. She turned into the hallway and saw the vampire. He was still walking, now in the giant space that made the kitchen, living and dining room. Buffy was nearly as the end of the hallway when she saw another figure appear. Two of them exactly.

__

Mom.

The other vampire was holding her mother, standing behind her with one arm holding down her arms while the other was running slanted across her chest. A plastic pine tree sat in the corner and it flashed green, red and blue light. The light danced on their skin as the vampire's fingers did the same, sliding along her mother's throat in gentle movements. Her eyes looked frighteningly alert. Dried tear trails covered her cheeks.

"Drop the stake, girl," the vampire ordered, his tone grim. "Don't make me kill her."

As if to show it could be done his he grabbed her mom's neck and squeezed, his jagged fingernails digging into her skin. Any courage that the woman held dissolved and all that was left was terror, her mouth forming a silent scream.

Buffy threw the stake forward.

"Good," the vampire commended and forced a smile. The other vampire stood behind him, grinning wide. "Very good."

Buffy heard that familiar creek of the floorboards.

__

Behind-!

Then Buffy's world went grey.

4

It'd been nearly two hours since Kass had found himself sacked in the closet with, what he thought, the most important role in the plan. Hax would argue with that, of course.

__

You don't have to bait that goddamn Slayer, he'd say, his round head coupled with the wine to make him look more like a child that ever. Right about now he'd probably say _Kass, let's trade spots! My arm's killing me!_

But Kass didn't feel much to argue with Tyrone on the plan. If the Slayer didn't follow that imaginary line that he'd placed for her, she would kill Hax. And after that she would run out of the room and find Tyrone with her mother. Gods know how that would turn out but it wouldn't be good, for anybody.

And now it looked like everybody would find out just how they'd be spending their night.

"Daddy?"

Kass felt himself smile, his fangs baring themselves to the dark. They were going up against a Slayer! And after all he'd heard about them. About how cold they were, how decisive, she was just a little girl who was upset about her father being killed.

From inside the closet, Kass heard the door open and he felt a little easier. He gripped the bat, feeling the slippery, cold sweat. Almost there.

Even with the plush carpet, Kass heard the footfalls of the Slayer leaving.

His reaction was something he didn't care to think about because if he did, he knew he'd freeze up and stay huddled in that closet forever. He slid the door open and stepped out. It glided smoothly on its hinges, giving no sound or warning. 

Kass glanced at the old man once before following the Slayer out the door. 

There the Slayer stood, Tyrone with his fingers inching around the woman's jugular, and Hax. Stupid Hax grinning like an idiot behind the two.

"Drop the stake, girl," Tyrone said in his usual dull drone. "Don't make me kill her."

The Slayer threw the stake forward. It landed midway between her and Tyrone. His eyes said he'd been expecting this.

"Good," Tyrone said, pleased. "Very good."

Kass heard the floorboard beneath his feet betray him and saw Tyrone's eyes widen to perfect O's.

Panic ruled his muscles and Kass found himself swinging, hard. He squinted at the moment of impact, his eyes somehow afraid of splinters finding their way into his soft pupils. He felt the thin echoes from the bat carry through his bones and then he saw her. She looked like the bones had just been extracted from her body, standing like a puppeteer's play-toy, and then fell forward in a heavy lump. Nothing had ever sounded so good in his life.

"_BUFFY!"_

Tyrone twisted the woman around viciously, his fingers digging deeply into her shoulders.

"What did I tell you about screaming!" he whispered loudly. His eyes fired and his fist did the same. She sprawled backward from the blow looking crucified, palms out and eyes closed. "Kass, you mind?"

Kass' gaze jerked away from the woman to Tyrone.

"That's right! You wanted-!" Kass said before stopping himself. The annoyance written on Tyrone's face confirmed that he did indeed sound as stupid as he thought.

Kass threw the bat to Tyrone who caught it easily and tossed it behind him. It landed on the wooden table with a hollow echo.

__

Now why did I do that? Kass asked himself. He looked down and felt a pinch of fear in his gut. There she was: the Slayer. The impulse to bash her skull in with the heel of his boot swept over him before he smelt it. Her blood. The girl's blonde hair was reddening, pooling outward from the back of her head. Kass felt a hunger stir inside him.

__

The woman.

Kass walked past the Slayer and stepped onto the hard tiled floor, not bothering to glance at the girl again. This woman, this _beautifully_ blood filled woman was all that mattered now.

His fingers found their way into the smooth strands of her hair and they grabbed. The woman let out a faint cry as she was pulled off the floor and forced to her feet.

"Rope's in the closet," Kass said before tenting his fingers against the woman's back. He pushed and sent the woman off her feet and into the wall at the far side of the room. She hit the plaster face first, hands second and third, and slid down the way a fat bead of water would, slow and dragging.

"Thanks," Tyrone replied and walked over to the Slayer.

"You need a knife?" Kass found himself asking.

Tyrone's response was casual, almost lazy. "Already have one."

__

But that's okay, Kass thought. _Let him have his fun with the girl before we turn her over to Lothos. I just want to have fun with her!_

The woman was still conscious, though incoherent, when he found himself by her.

Hax was making himself useless by playing around in the kitchen. The silverware rattled around as he opened and closed the drawers.

"Anything good?" Kass asked. His eyes never ventured from the woman.

"Got some good knives in here," Hax said, "the kinds that can cut through cans!"

"Pass me one."

The knife whistled through the air as it glided towards Kass. He doubted any other kind could hear it. The sound of an impending kill was always something he thought vampires were privy to.

Kass opened his palm and caught the knife out of its spin with ease. He held it tight as he grabbed the woman by the back of her neck, fingering through her long hair. Beneath their tips he could feel her muscles tense, readying themselves.

"Come on," he whispered and turned the woman around. Her eyes were a dull glaze. Kass clamped his fingers around her neck again, holding her against the wall. She looked vaguely aware of what was happening, the fear being muffled by a confused denial.

Kass felt the rhythmic pulse of her blood under his fingers.

"Party up," Kass said and buried the knife in her chest. The dense blade punched through her breastbone and into her heart.

"Come on, baby," Kass giggled and tightened his grip on the woman's neck, pushing her upward. "Come on."

The woman shook, tensed, spasmed, a gurgling sound escaping her mouth.

Kass kept pressure on the knife, lost to the hilt in the woman. He smiled as the cloth of her sweater became heavy and damp. The smell of her blood filled him, intoxicated him, and he pushed her up again. Her eyes rolled to the side, her head following.

The vampire grinned. The hard beat of the woman's pulse slowed and then stopped. _Better late than ever_, Kass thought before letting go of the knife and sinking his fangs into the woman's neck.

5

Buffy Summers was lying face down on her mattress, her head aching like she'd just been hit by a freight train, when she remembered the stake.

Her parents had been fighting and she'd balancing the stake in the centre of her palm for nearly an hour. Discipline is a virtue of the Gods, she once heard. If that was true she felt a little godly with the pointed wood standing upright in her hand.

__

This is your life and you can't wait for it, she thought. She tipped the stake over and caught it with her index finger and thumb. Smiling, she placed it snugly between her mattress and the wooden frame that made her bed.

This one would serve no other purpose she decided and felt the other in her jacket.

Now it looked like she would have to break that promise.

Her head throbbed and she began to inch her way across the bed. Warm beads of fluid ran down her neck and she realized she was bleeding. Probably why the vampire had left her alone in here, her own room. To a vampire life is blood, but to a Slayer, life is in the beat of a heart.

__

I'll kill him, she thought and her mind drifted to her mother. She heard her from what seemed a millennium ago but was really just a minute. Her name was howled, screamed, and then nothing. She could only prey for the best.

The room was dark and Buffy found herself glance towards the door. It was open, the hallway looking eerie and dangerous. The vampire had just left, mumbling something about how his knife wasn't good enough, when she realized what happened. It was her first coherent thought since whatever hit her, and her body was having a hard time catching up. It seemed to believe that it should have been sleeping right now, hurting and dragging while Buffy's mind screamed for it to move.

Voices reached her ears. The vampires were still by the kitchen. Buffy began to claw at the underbelly of the bed and found her fingers tangled in the slack of the sheet. The hallway gave its warning, the vampire's weight proving too heavy for his own good. Buffy found her eyes fully open and alert for the first time since she'd entered the house. There was her dad, nailed to the floor, his eyes rolled back.

Buffy found her fingers on the stake and wrapped them around. Her hand stayed its place and she twisted her neck around, her eyes looking to the hallway and then closing.

Buffy heard the click of the door close and felt her throat tighten. She hoped the vampire didn't see that.

"What the hell?" The vampire paused and then his tone turned from worried to jovial. Buffy heard a snicker and disgust and rage filled her. Her muscles again tightening. "What are you trying to do?" he teased. "Trying to say goodbye to your papa?"

That was it. He was close enough.

Buffy's stake flew out from its hiding place and she prayed that her hearing had served her right. It did but her reflexes, dwindled of their strength, were not so true. She felt the stake hit and then the vampire's fingers clamping around her wrist, blocking it. Buffy opened her eyes to his surprised horror.

The stake was in him but not deep enough. Only the tip was in his body and the rest she held, his own hand iron and stopping her from driving it the rest of the way. Buffy saw a knife. It sat huge and silver in the moonlight, held in his free hand. She sat up and grabbed for the blade, crossing her free arm under the occupied. The vampire held it still when she twisted the blade into his stomach, cutting deep into the soft tissue of his side.

His jaw dropped, his eyes round, but no scream came.

Buffy let go of the stake and the vampire did the same for her wrist. It throbbed lightly but it was nothing compared to her head, still beating like deadly drum. She struggled to her feet when she saw the vampire's fingers move for the stake. It still protruded from his chest like a child's toy arrow. His other hand was still holding the knife, not moved from its place in his stomach. The vampire stepped back towards the door, his eyes looking not so gold.

The vampire was holding the stake when Buffy jumped and kicked, throwing the bottom of her foot forward while her body stayed its place. She hit the butt of the stake and it slid into his heart. She heard the sharp crack as his fingers ground and broke against his sternum.

He flew backward as Buffy found herself back on the ground. The door, in the way of the hurtling vampire, found itself beaten. It broke first by the knob, and then snapped towards the master bedroom when flying off its hinges. The vampire dissolved to dust before inflicting the same damage on the parallel wall.

__

Two more. There were two more.

Buffy ran towards the hallway and saw the stake and knife, dirtied and lying on the carpet. She picked them up and saw him, her-

Her expression of hope died. It was replaced by something so dark that it seemed to change her whole face.

Her eyes grew dark.

They were all going to die.

She held both of the weapons backward and began to walk, not run, to the vampire. His expression was more shock than fright.

All fury left her, as did the pain. What replaced it was a cold determination, and the knowledge that she was (no doubt at all) going to kill the vampire before her. Afterwards she would wonder, _Is that what a Slayer feels like?_ It was a troubling thought.

The vampire stepped away from (her mother) his kill and picked up the bat from the table at his side. He moved with a delicate grace and Buffy supposed that he was just mimicking her own demeanour.

The vampire snarled, his legs squared, his fingers wrapped around the grip of the bat. Buffy moved towards him and glanced downward so quickly that the vampire didn't see it. A plan formed in her mind without her own realization.

Without warning, Buffy began to run. She moved only two steps when she placed the flat of her foot under the stake left from their first encounter and kicked it towards the vampire. It flew flimsy and spiralling, aimed at the vampire's face.

Buffy continued to run when the vampire sidestepped the projectile's path. The stake flew by his eye and then hit the wall, falling limply to the floor. Buffy was nearly on him when the vampire saw her and swung the bat in a huge horizontal arc.

The vampire's swing could not be stopped and Buffy knew that. Once seeing his shoulder twitch, she ducked and began to roll. Her head burned wildly, feeling as if nails were just buried in her skull, but Buffy barely noticed.

Buffy was done her circle and she was kneeling by the vampire, one foot flat on the ground. The vampire was finishing his swing when he shrieked in pain, a knife buried in his lower back.

The handle of the blade was solid and Buffy held it well, keeping pressure in the vampire's back as she rose to her feet. She twisted the handle and the bat fell from the vampire's hands, his arms outstretched and flimsy.

With her hand still holding the knife, Buffy threw the other over the vampire's head and sunk the stake into his chest, her arms forming a giant X. Disbelief filled the vampire's cry and then dust filled the air. Buffy's arms found their way back to her sides.

"Slayer," Buffy heard and then turned round towards the kitchen. She recognized the vampire's figure immediately. He was the one who'd been in her room with her father.

The vampire looked unsure, his eyes moving in jerking motions, and then went for two of the largest knives from the cutlery. The many knives hung on a rack above the sink.

Buffy decided against going hand to hand. A selfish, murderous vampire is one thing but a murderous vampire that knows he's likely to die is something else. She cocked her arm and let the knife fly.

"Aaaaghh!" the vampire croaked. He'd moved but that was to be expected. The blade was deep in his shoulder, a few inches from his heart. The vampire looked at the thing imbedded in his body, his face shifting back no his more human visage.

The vampire's eyes shifted back to Buffy just as the heel of her foot met with his jaw.

The two knives flew from his hands and his own body buckled upward, his limbs looking sniff and rigid. The vampire flew backwards before hitting his head on the cupboard above the stove and then hitting his head on its steel rim. He slid downward and ended slouched against the stove, his head hanging loosely on his shoulders.

Buffy threw the stake to the floor and marched towards him. Her fury was returning.

"Bastard," she whispered and grabbed a handful of his hair. His eyes settled on her once before she punched him across his cheek. Her fist stung and his flesh looked red and ready to bruise. The vampire's eyes fluttered and then closed. She settled her arm back and then punched him again, and again-

"Bastard." The hard packing sound of bone against flesh. "Bastard, bastard, bastard, _bastard_!"

Half his face was a bloodied mess when Buffy let go of his hair. His eyes had not reopened and she knew they never would. She held him by the throat and then pulled the knife from his shoulder. Her rage was not yet cleansed.

The blade fell into his chest smoothly. Buffy did not notice how the bones sounded as the knife slit through them. Or how the flesh sounded spongy as it was cut to a bloody mess. All she thought about was her father.

"Bastard."

Her mother.

"Bastard."

The way their eyes were wide open, unforgiving.

"Bastard."

Blood rolled from the tip of the knife and she stabbed it back into the vampire again.

Her hands were a dark red.

"Bastard, bastard, _BASTARD! Why won't you die?"_

Buffy threw the knife to the side and felt tears roll in her eyes. She shut them tight but there was no stopping them. A cold swept over her, dark and barren, and she felt a tremble build with it.

Her heart began to slow and her eyes lost their fury.

Sitting in the darkened room, slouched forward, hands on her lap, fifteen-year-old Buffy Summers began to cry, her body breaking into wracking sobs.

The dark was quiet and the world went on.

6

The red and blue flashed for what seemed an eternity before Merrick arrived. Buffy sat on the curb, the vehicles of all those involved lined up at her side. Her head looking a giant bandage after the paramedics patched up the gash on the back of her head. It was already closing, she knew. She hardly felt any blood trailing down her neck when she went to the bathroom to check the wound. After- (_the murders_)

She'd been able to hold off the paramedics from dragging her to the hospital only by saying she'd like to wait till her uncle arrived. Their faces, also solemn and sympathetic, were agreeing when she said he was her only family around and she didn't want to spend the rest of the evening alone. Her headache was a monstrous thing but that too would soon go away.

Everything physical would.

(_Just like the blood on your hands!)_

Where would she be now if the vampire had stepped up a little closer before swinging his bat?

__

Dead or tortured.

The thought hit her was such a degree of honesty it scared her. Just a few weeks ago such a thing would not have been possible. A month ago-

__

My parents weren't dead, her subconscious said and Buffy shifted uneasily, bundled in a thick grey blanket.

The cops were still around, overlooking the crime scene and blocking off the area with their yellow tape. The ambulances she didn't see a purpose for. A hearse would have done just as well.

Her parents were still inside. Their bodies probably being photographed, examined, tagged-

__

They don't tag bodies at the crime scene, her mind piped in. _They do that at the morgue._

These people she didn't mind. It was the others that bothered her. The onlookers. Dressed in their robes, those tired, curious eyes, the few neighbours on the other side of the street that had taken it upon themselves to watch the aftermath of the Summers' murders.

Tomorrow it would be all they'd talk about. How young Buffy Summers (_she's been having a bit of trouble in school lately)_ stumbled into the house after ducking out past her curfew and ended up a victim in the robbery gone wrong. How she was knocked unconscious by assailants unknown and woke to find her parents _(we could hear them fighting into the wee hours of the night_) dead and the house empty.

They'd talk, pity her, and worry about the killers still at large in the community. Their perfect little image of suburbia ruined-

__

Maybe it would just be better if they knew the truth, Buffy thought and then saw Merrick. The chubby, balding, greyish man with the bushy moustache jogged across the road. A police officer, a young man looking smug in his authority, tried to step in his way. Merrick hardly even noticed as he pushed him out of his way.

"Buffy!" he called.

"Hey, Merrick," she said, and watched as the cop looked around, saw no one objecting, and went back to milling around by the cars.

Buffy stood up, feeling dizziness wrap its cloak around her head but fought it off. She'd rather be sitting, but he'd take that as a sign that she was seriously hurt. Also, it seemed rude.

Merrick hugged her and then stepped back, looking her over. "Are you-" he started before catching her eye. He didn't bother to finish.

Buffy was looking at the blackened road at her feet. It hurt to look at his warm, forgiving eyes; shaming.

"I've been better."

"Good, good," Merrick said and hugged her again. His arms were around her, wrapping over her own and coming together at her back. She stood there in his embrace, rigid, and felt a shudder run through her. It would be so easy to lose it right now. So easy to just be lost and-

__

(forget?_)_

Buffy pulled back and found her head slouching again, her eyes looking into nothing. She glanced up and saw Merrick, hurt, but more concerned than insulted. Guilt swallowed her again and Buffy felt those tears ready to come.

"I," Buffy began and then swallowed, sniffled and ran her fingers through her eyes. "I think we're going to be okay here," she choked, her voice sounding weak and frail. "The weapons I used aren't in the house anymore so they won't be able to suspect me even if they want to. But there's… um, a lot of blood from a third party in the kitchen. With that and the amount of damage to the house the police are going to be scratching their heads for a while."

Her mind drifted, no, _shot_ to the moment when she found some control after she'd lost it. She could have sat there forever, or at least until the police found her sitting over the butchered body of one unknown man, when she found herself almost wiping the tears from her eyes.

A horror closed in on her when she saw them, lit well by the falling moonlight through the kitchen window. Her hands were red, nearly panted the colour. She saw a small bead of blood roll off a nail and splatter onto the gleaming floor.

On her pants a dried red had settled in on the jeans where she laid her palms. They skidded back and forth, flowing from a dark to only a shade. Buffy felt a nauseous wave roll in her stomach and at the back of her throat.

Despite all reason, guilt filled her when she saw him, the vampire. He no longer looked undead, only dead. His fangs were gone, his protruding brow, replaced with a bloodied, swollen flesh. Her eyes drifted downward before flying to the side. His shirt, once a healthy grey, was no longer any such colour. It was a red black and looked shredded, the skin beneath-

Buffy grabbed for the stake behind her and stabbed it into his heart. She was out of the kitchen before he turned to dust.

The next few minutes were a blur, maybe because she'd moved so fast but probably because she wasn't thinking. The only thought that managed to cram its way into her mind was that the neighbours had probably heard the noise and decided to call the cops. She wasn't sure later if it was a blessing that they'd not taken the call seriously enough to send a couple of boys in blue right over. Whether it was the case or not, it gave her time to work.

The weapons, the stakes and knife she used, were two blocks away in a friend's garage. She didn't intend to leave the items there long but even if someone were to look around they would be hard pressed to find anything in the piles of moulded boxes. The dust covering the area was like a blanket and Buffy doubted it would be gone tomorrow.

Before she left, though, she did the most important thing, removing the physical evidence from herself. Namely, changing her clothes and washing her hands and any splotches of blood from her face. The clothes too she left in the garage.

The only thing that worried her was that there was no blood on her new shirt. Her hair was dirty and clumped together and her neck was caked in the dried blood. She hoped that by running her fingers through her hair and pressing them against her collar she remedied the situation but she wasn't so sure. Luckily, no one seemed to notice when they found her lying on the floor, or while they'd questioned her and bandaged the cut.

Buffy Summers was free and clear of all guilt in the murders of her parents. Unfortunately she felt anything but.

"Merrick, can I stay with you?"

He looked a little started by the question as Buffy struggled to meet his eyes. His own were a little wider than usual.

"Yes, of course you can, Buffy," Merrick said, his voice soft and kind. "I was just under the impression that given the situation you'd like to stay with friends or relatives."

"Yeah, well, friends I'm a little short on lately since I've learned that there's more to life than the mall. And I'm short on relatives in the LA area as of late so you're my only option. Plus I want to stay with you, to train."

"Buffy," Merrick began, "you don't need to start your routines again immediately. After the ordeal you've been through-"

"I need to train more," Buffy snapped, her voice dry and serious. "I know that I haven't been doing as well as you've hoped." Merrick began to protest. 

"No, it's okay. I haven't been trying as hard as I should really. But that's going to change. _I'm_ going to change. From now on it's going to be you and me twenty-four hours a day. That's if you want to help?" Buffy said as she cut him off.

"Yes, of course, Buffy," Merrick said. "I'm willing to help you out in whatever way I can."

And he would. She knew it. Not just out of the duty of his job, because he wanted to. Merrick wasn't just her Watcher now, he was her _family_. And she was glad for that.

"Thanks, Merrick," Buffy said and found herself hugging the man. "_Thank you so very_ _much_."

The two stood there till Buffy dragged him away, afraid that they'd soon be bringing her parents out. 

From then to night of her death Buffy never dreamt again.

__

To be continued with Angel, Willow, and Xander's stories in the months before the Harvest.


End file.
